


Break in the Rhythm

by wintergrey



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Brainwashing, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive, Oral Sex, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky gets lost in his own head sometimes and Sam has to draw him out. Once Bucky gets back to the real world, the best way to ground him there for good is in bed.</p><blockquote>
  <p>They moved like they were dancing, Sam leading, away from the wall and the flutter of light and dark as data spilled from screen to screen and into uselessness with every passing minute. Sam couldn't take any chances; whatever had sent Bucky fleeing into himself might still be lurking in the patterns and the numbers that remained. They'd go back to look, together, when Sam was here to keep Bucky anchored to the new self he was piecing together from memory and revenge.</p>
</blockquote>A distant relative of <i>Stumble in the Debris</i>, similar mechanics/headcanon, might intersect some day. Prompts were disorders (OCD behaviours, phobias, etc.) and blow jobs.
            </blockquote>





	Break in the Rhythm

Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound was as steady as the clock on the wall but slightly out of synch with the second hand. Right now, Bucky's finger hit the concrete floor 1.25 times for every click of the second hand. Seventy-five beats per minute.

Sam was used to it. Not okay with it. Just used to it. Bucky's eyes were focused on nothing at all, six inches below the lowest of the screens hanging on what Sam thought of as the information wall. That's what it was, solid information, some moving and some static, mostly screens but some maps, some paper, some scraps of garbage with code written down in pen, pencil, even blood. Whatever Bucky had on hand at the time was what he used to make notes on the whispers of the mind he couldn't find when he needed it.

Bucky crouched, frozen, before the wall like a man worshipping at a shrine. His metal finger on the floor counted out the beats of his heart until he remembered who he was, where he was, what his true mission was--instead of what Hydra had poured into the empty places left by tearing out the man he'd been once upon a time. As Sam let the door close behind him, the finger double-tapped the floor, Bucky's heart skipping a beat, then sped up.

Sam put down the groceries, set the milk and eggs in the fridge gingerly, going through his own motions with the same mechanical precision of Bucky's finger hitting the floor. One hundred beats per minute. Sam's heart stuttered in his chest as though it were running to catch up.

When his work was done, Sam hung up his coat, tucked his wallet in one pocket of it and his keys in the other. Shoes, socks, belt, anything extraneous had to go. His palms were cold and slick. This was the hard part. Every time he did this, he was afraid he'd get it wrong. One-hundred-twenty beats a minute.

Bucky managed without Sam. Hurt himself. Hurt other people. But he managed. He said he didn't care, so long as he didn't hurt Sam. Sometimes, he said, he thought Sam being there made it worse. Made him scared, that's why his heart beat so fast. He knew Sam was there and the fear of what could happen hunted him, even through the locked-down chaos of his tormented brain.

Sam could walk out, come back tomorrow, and Bucky would be Bucky again--or he'd be gone. Gone and Sam would have to come back tomorrow and tomorrow until he lost track of days and had to count them on his fingers, on his calendar, comparing to the last time he came back to find Bucky gone so he could decide how afraid to be, whether to trade fear out for grief, whether to pick up and the phone and tell Steve he'd lost their private little war.

Sam stepped between Bucky and the wall. One-hundred-and-too-many beats per minute, a tinny little rattle of metal on concrete. The frantic rustle of a snake's tail.

"Hey." Sam crouched down so that Bucky's empty cerulean stare went right through him as though he wasn't there. The rattle stuttered, faltered, sped up until Bucky's body vibrated with it. "I'm here."

Sam put a hand on Bucky's cheek, stroked the days of stubble accumulated there since the last time he'd let Sam trim it back--clippers, not a blade. Never a blade. There was trust and then there was certainty and neither of them could afford the latter.

"Come on back." Sam leaned in to press a kiss to Bucky's dry mouth. The rattle turned to a scrape against the floor. "Like that." Sam kissed him again.

The metal ticked again against the floor. Skip, then steady, then slower, then skip when Sam kissed him again. Sam found that hand with his, curled his fingers around the familiar glossy coolness and felt the constant hum of its life against his skin. Bucky's fingers curled around his in turn and hung on. When Sam stood, knees and back aching with tension and time, Bucky came with him.

They moved like they were dancing, Sam leading, away from the wall and the flutter of light and dark as data spilled from screen to screen and into uselessness with every passing minute. Sam couldn't take any chances; whatever had sent Bucky fleeing into himself might still be lurking in the patterns and the numbers that remained. They'd go back to look, together, when Sam was here to keep Bucky anchored to the new self he was piecing together from memory and revenge.

"There you are," Sam murmured, when Bucky kissed him back at last. Bucky's breath shook in his chest a second before he grabbed Sam to kiss him hard, as though he'd only now remembered that he could.

"Sam." Bucky's hands twisted in Sam's shirt and the buttons rained down onto the floor.

"I'm here." Sam slid his fingers into Bucky's hair to give him a little shake, grounding him.

"Did I..."

"You didn't do anything," Sam soothed. "You were just gone long enough for me to get the groceries. Got back and found you."

"You shouldn't." Bucky shook his head, pulling against Sam's grip on his hair. Words came slow to him like this, especially when they got caught on his fears.

"And risk losing you?" Sam pulled him in for another kiss. "You're crazy if you think I'm not gonna try. We've been through this before. I got a better chance against you alone than all of Hydra if I've gotta get you back."

"Sam." Bucky leaned in to rest his forehead against Sam's, closing his eyes. Sam knew what that meant by now. Surrender. Every time, he won this argument faster.

"You know I'm right." Sam pushed him down onto the makeshift bed of pallets and blankets where they spent the nights Sam could convince Bucky to lie still long enough to sleep.

"Stubborn." Bucky tugged Sam's shirt all the way off with an angry motion. Behind the curtain of his hair, his eyes were too bright.

"Every reason to be."

Sam took the hem of the T-shirt Bucky had been wearing for the last three days and pulled up slowly. Bucky lifted his arms obediently, let Sam peel it off him. Underneath, his skin was marred with faded pools of brown and purple, yellow and green, as though someone had dripped watercolours onto wet white paper to watch them spread.

"Please." Bucky lay back, clumsy hands on the fly of his worn cargo pants. Sam took over before Bucky could tear right through button and zipper at once. He'd learned his lesson before.

"Hey," Sam said gently. "Who's in charge?"

"You."

The admission was a switch flipped somewhere in the faltering mechanics of Bucky's psyche. Bucky exhaled, head falling back to bare his throat. Sam kissed him there, then on the scarred plane of his breastbone where someone had once cracked his chest open to get at his heart, his belly where silky dark hair feathered down the midline to the waistband of his pants. Sam stopped kissing to drag Bucky's pants and briefs off at once, down his perpetually-bruised legs and over his dirty bare feet.

Sam looked up to see Bucky's metal fingers tapping absently against his hipbone just a little faster than once per second. Bucky's good hand, though, was wrapped around his erection, dragging slowly over the length of it. Sam kissed the pale inner flesh of one of Bucky's thighs, gently and then harder, sinking his teeth in until Bucky cried out and his hand closed on Sam's shoulder.

"Please." The word was clear, the curl of Bucky's metal hand on the back of Sam's neck was clearer.

"That's my boy," Sam murmured. Bucky stopped stroking himself, slid his hand down to the base of his cock to offer it up to Sam's mouth. Sam met Bucky's eyes up the length of his body, found them clear and lucid. "That's what you want?"

"Yes."

Sam kissed the head of Bucky's cock, slow and wet, teasing with his tongue. Bucky whined with relief and let his hands fall away. Sam worked his way down slowly, pulling back over and over before taking Bucky in a little deeper every time. By the time the bead of Bucky's cock slid against the back of Sam's throat, Bucky was shivering and whimpering, knees pulled up and feet set apart on their bed.

Whatever magic let Bucky flip from taut and edgy to loose and wanting, Sam couldn't get enough of it. Sam was the one who was anxious now, twitchy for more of Bucky's little noises and everything he knew was coming, the shaking and the begging and Bucky needing him. He fucked his mouth on Bucky's cock, diving down until he couldn't breathe and had to swallow hard to take Bucky all the way in.

Sam's mouth was slick and salty with Bucky's pre-come, he couldn't hear past the slamming of his own heart and Bucky's soft but unbroken stream of babble and cries. His tongue knew every inch of Bucky's cock, the curve of the head, the dip of the slit, the pulse of the veins, the ridge of the underside, the coarse curls at the base of it. When Bucky's hands came to rest, lightly, on the back of his head, Sam knew he only had to push a little further to get what he wanted.

Sam held back with an effort but it was just so he could find the lube in the open shoebox under the pallets, fumbling for it while trying to keep the rhythm of his mouth on Bucky's cock. The cold slick was a shock on his own skin but he knew what came next and wanted to be ready for it. Bucky scrabbled at Sam's shoulders, hips pushing up to try and get more of him.

"Shh," Sam said once he pulled off, setting his clean hand against Bucky's belly to calm him. Bucky's cheeks were flushed, his jaw tight with frustration.

"Please." Bucky put his good hand against Sam's cheek. "Please, Sam."

"You gotta wait now or you gotta wait later and you hate waiting later," Sam pointed out. Eyes on Bucky's, he dragged his tongue up the underside of Bucky's cock. "You know I got you, right?"

"Yeah, but please?" Bucky's voice broke. "Your mouth, Sam."

"Glad you came back for it?" Sam teased gently.

"For you." Bucky slid his fingers over Sam's wet lips. "Please, Sam. I need you."

"I know." Sam still loved to hear it. "I got you, I promise." He went down on Bucky again, stroking himself slowly as he sucked and licked.

In seconds, Bucky was back where he was when Sam stopped, writhing with need. Sam drew it out, breaking his rhythm and starting over again then deep-throating Bucky until Bucky shook with it. When Bucky finally came, he sobbed as he spilled into Sam's mouth, hips jerking and thrusting until he was drained.

As soon as Sam pulled off, wiping the back of one hand over his mouth to clean up the semen that had escaped him, Bucky twisted away from him.

"Please, Sam, please." It always went like this at times like these, the begging and the urgency, Bucky on his knees with his ass in the air. "Fuck me, Sam. Please."

Sam didn't know why, thought he'd figure it out some day. Here and now, not giving Bucky what he needed was disastrous. Too long or not at all and Bucky shut down, humiliated. Sam had turned Bucky down once, worried about him, and it had taken them weeks to recover.

"I told you." Sam leaned over Bucky and pushed two slick fingers into his ass. "I got you. I won't let you down."

"I'm sorry, Sam." Bucky's hands twisted in the blankets. His hair fell across his face, obscuring it, and Sam pushed it aside. Bucky was unfocused, mouth open, cheeks burning red. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Sam kissed his hot cheek, then his slack mouth, winding the fingers of one hand in Bucky's tangled hair. "Nothing to be sorry for. I promised."

When Sam pushed in all at once, in spite of the resistance, Bucky made a noise of raw relief. He was so fragile in contrast to the rough handling that made him feel safe; it took Sam forever to get it right, but he had it now. He knew how to be ruthless, how to twist his hand in Bucky's hair until tears welled up in Bucky's eyes, and he'd learned to like it if only for the results.

"Fuck," Bucky gasped as Sam pulled out completely and then took him again, harder this time. "That's everything, Sam."

Bucky was so hot and tight and the way he clenched, whining, as Sam fucked him drove Sam crazy. "Jesus, I'm not gonna last long," he muttered, half to himself and half as warning.

"Don't care." Bucky pushed back against him. "Just make it good. Hard. Please, Sam."

Hard. Sam could do that. Hands tight on Bucky's hips, he gave Bucky what he wanted, fucking him hard enough that the pallets creaked and shifted under them. Bucky muffled his cries in the blankets until Sam mustered up the coordination to yank his hair roughly.

"Lemme hear it," he demanded.

"Oh, God." Bucky shook his head furiously but he didn't stifle himself again. He hated being loud, hated being made to resist whoever'd programmed him to be quiet while he got fucked.

Sam wasn't having it. He wanted everything he was working for with each thrust of his cock into Bucky's heat, every roll of his hips. Finally, he pushed Bucky into a second orgasm that wrenched a howl out of him.

Sam rode Bucky through it, left him limp and trembling. Then he pulled out to flip Bucky over again. He kissed Bucky's soft mouth again and again, murmuring how good Bucky was, how happy he was with Bucky, as he jerked off. He came with a hot rush of pleasure and relief together, streaking Bucky's belly with semen.

After, he let his head rest on Bucky's shoulder while he caught his breath. Bucky's hands drifted over his back, tentatively at first, then more firmly as Bucky grounded himself.

"You mean it?" Bucky said against Sam's hair.

"What part?" Sam laughed, a little exhalation against Bucky's damp skin. "I mean all of it. Just want to know what part in particular."

"Being happy." Bucky's hands stilled on Sam's back. "Even when I'm...tonight."

"Yeah." Sam sat up enough to kiss Bucky on the mouth, then looked him in the eye. "That's just...it's you. I'm happy with you."

"In spite--" Bucky started, but Sam shut him up with a kiss.

"Not in spite." Sam wasn't having any of that either. "It's never in spite of anything you are. Trust me."

 


End file.
